"savoury" poems
I climbed slowly,
slowly on the mount of aspirations,
On succint savoury dreams,
As i see the success peaking from thousand miles above.
I grip the cold stone
tighter, harder,
My passion,
my hardwork,
As i swiftly float
from the ground.
Snowy
zephyrs
of laze and evil,
Reign against me,
trying to break my hold.
Yet the fire of my
determination,
Still burns
within.
My thick woolen
coat hugs me tight,
My faith, my values,
Protecting me from
the blizzards of
jealousy, vile,
As i wind
my way
upwards.
A glance
backwards,
And the horrid past knocks
on the veins of my sullen heart,
Yet this soul will give up
no more.
The weary body,
driven by heraculous force,
through the steep slopes of time,
Against enormous storms and stints,
With an armour of patience,
Finds itself on dome of
success.
Ah!
fleeting
moments
of unscathed bliss,
Enamour for success,
And it's sweet sweet honey.
That slowly melts in my heart,
On top of the mountain,
Where everything is
freezing.
From
the top,
the hardwork,
the giant path looks small,
As the heart prepares to climb,
Another mountain.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 2:09 PM UTC
You're trouble, you're toil.
Yes, trouble and toil.
With you I think I'll bring to the boil.
A pinch of salt and a teaspoon of oil
but not too much, your taste it'll spoil.
I'll take off your beard.
To eat that would be weird.
But gristle that makes your knees
into crackling . . .
. . . oh yes please.
With mint sauce on each cheek,
two kebabs that are seekh.
Not keen on the chin
so I hope you don't mind,
that goes straight in the bin.
Chop, chew, swallow and digest.
Can you guess which part
of you I like best?
It's your nose that I grate
all around the edge of my plate
and because I've asked "Please"
that you try not to sneeze.
It makes a much better garnish
than parmesan cheese.
Savoury poetry by Kaydee.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
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Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 9:30 AM UTC
There is no smell in all the world,
None in the North or South,
None in the East or West,
None in the lowest places,
None on the highest peaks,
Like that smell filling the air,
Filling the house,
Filling my senses,
That smell of spaghetti frying,
Frying in the morning light,
The smell so different from when it was first cooked,
Moving the senses,
Moving the mind,
Anticipation in scent,
The sauce sizzling,
Changing,
Changing in the frying pan,
As the noodles turn crisper,
Crisper,
Crisp,
With that crispness like no other,
The noodles,
No longer white,
Made yellow,
Yellow from the sauce,
Fried onto them,
One with them,
Flavours seeping in,
And the sauce,
Orange now,
Red orange but clearly orange,
No longer the bright red it was when it entered the pan,
And as the sauce and noodles change,
Reach that perfect point,
The smell just right,
The colour just right,
The texture just right,
The sizzling reaching the perfect crescendo,
Then, and only then,
The spaghetti no longer stirring,
Evened out,
Temperature lowered,
And carefully,
Slowly,
To keep them on the top,
The eggs break,
White running among the noodles,
Filling the gaps,
Turning from clear to white as they hit the hot pan,
Yolks floating on top where they should be,
The perfect drop,
And the odours as the white changes,
Filling the air with new scents,
Mingling with the ones already present,
And then the salt, disappearing on the surface,
The black pepper,
Black flects,
Scattered evenly,
Perfectly,
The smell of pepper joining the egg and spaghetti,
And a splash of Tobacco Sauce across the whole,
That hot smell,
That bright red colour,
And the silver lid slips on,
Over the top,
Hiding,
Protecting,
Cooking the whole,
Until it is done,
And the lid set aside,
The whole onto a plate,
Perfect to the senses,
The smell,
The colours,
The texture,
Perfect,
And the first bight,
Heavenly,
Like nothing else on earth,
Almost sweet,
But still savoury,
Strange to those knowing bowled pasta,
Strange to those knowing simmered sauce,
Strange to those knowing fried eggs,
But the tastes,
Perfect,
Blended,
Strange but familiar,
Many memories,
Images,
Experiences,
All coming together like the different parts of the fried spaghetti,
And the fork through the yoke,
As it runs down,
Bright yellow into orange and red and black and white,
Perfect,
Amazing,
Done.
~The Smell of Fried Spaghetti by Bethany Davis, June 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
The hallway has teal arches with
high grecian columns, each with
gilded gold grapes and vines
entwined, kissed by the light of the
several crystal chandeliers.
With enormous paintings on the
pale blue walls - several key
moments captured and framed,
and age in no way diminished it's
strokes and vibrancy.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
I remember many times where
I had visited Paul and I
walked around his home,
telling me of his ancestors
achievements with a smile or a
frown on his face. "We can all
learn things from the past," he said
sadly. "And there's always things
done that we are not proud of. I
only want Luciuscemi to thrive."
"With you as King, I have no doubt
it will." I said with a smile and Paul
felt a little better.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
My feet continue to follow the
red carpet to the ball room as me
and my ladies pass many Luciuscemian
guards, all standing tall, lined up yet
all so courteous and friendly; dressed
in yellow military outfits, with red
shoulder capes. When I come upon the
end hall to the entrance of the ballroom,
I cannot help but gasp. Alive with so many
people in so many colours.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
I could see the dining hall in the far back;
lines of tables covered in coloured silks
and with many dishes: sweet, sour and
savoury, meats and vegetables, grilled fish,
glazed ham, veggie rolls and many
fine imported wines, fresh teas and
many more. Large ice sculptures of lions
and suns stand vigilant as the servants serve,
people laugh, eat and talk. Some walked out
to the balcony, some watch others dance;
long and short, this ballroom is an orchestra
for my soul.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
Grown beneath the sun,
Holding the occasional rain drop,
Surrounded on all sides by companions.
Snip!
Cut off forever from nourishment,
Collected with a few companions,
No clue what the future will hold.
Moving swiftly through the air,
Higher than ever dreamed, but
Fearful of sky diving without a parachute.
Misted occasionally,
Attempting to maintain appearances,
Despite being starved of food.
Enduring more body-jolting aerial swoops,
Drowned in a swift waterfall,
Losing companions that did not maintain their appearance as deftly.
Chop, chop, chop!
Sliced into innumerable bits,
Wondering if life is over,
Now that one’s shape is forever lost.
Perfuming the air with a distinctive aroma,
Blending it with those already in the air,
From other small bits of greenery.
Fears realized at last:
Falling from a great height to the ground,
But falling on a soft cushion.
Smothered with white strings,
Rolled up tightly in the soft cushion,
No escape route possible.
Dying in the heat,
Spreading into the gooey whiteness,
Wondering what the point of it all was.
Eventually cooling down,
Being exposed to air once again,
And hearing (if it were only possible):
This is the best herb cheddar bread I’ve ever had!
Was the result worthy of the chives and Italian parsley’s sacrifice?
All who partook of the savoury goodness certainly believed it was!
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
Difference involves a discernable set of identifiable concepts, where soft cheese can be wrapped in cosmetic triangulations.
I know that electricity is a paradoxical commodity, where black diamonds resonate with something which is dissimilar to the larger expectations of society.
Like I said: miscellaneous conceptions of mature virility are evident to three-sided arguments. Aren’t they? There are three sides to every savoury story.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
In Alarias eyes lies
a roast lamb mountain,
on a sea of the worlds
bestest gravy.
between her thighs
is peas pudding n pies,
cornish pasties,
crimped and savoury.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 7:16 AM UTC
Long and lithe fingers,
comfort moulded into cones,
is where art kisses geometry
and meets one of its own.
Her hands are to touch
manicured and glazed,
you feel home and lost
a Pharaoh now, and next a waif
The nails, you find and wonder
filed for a student and trimmed.
Not a wisp of colour
bare as a bone, naked and skinned.
Snug in a life song,
a pallbearer of untold griefs,
they are a stark sight
of colourless coral reefs.
On but a blue moon,
they’re a savoury rare,
when hungry eyes feast
on the riotous fair.
Why, one day, I ask thee?
She would smile and wouldn’t tell.
‘Never felt like’,
is her No Comment.
May 1, 2021
May 1, 2021 at 12:25 PM UTC
I doubt,
Therefore, I think
Therefore, I am.
I see.
I take in the colours around me.
The patterns, the lights, the rainbow.
I see the night, and the stars that glow.
I dream.
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.
I smell.
The perfumes, the roses.
The stench, the rotten, the putrid.
The aromas, cooking.
The green, the forest, the trees.
I inhale,
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.
I hear.
The noises. The people, the cheer.
The wails, the screams, the tears.
The rejoicing and happiness.
I hear.
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.
I taste.
The sweetness, the fire.
The treats and savoury delights.
The sourness, the bitterness.
I eat,
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.
I speak.
Short messages. Long speeches.
Quiet whispers. Bellowing noises.
I scream,
Therefore, I think,
Therefore, I am.
I feel.
The despair, the fear, the anguish.
The joy. The pride. The seething.
The envy, greed, and jealousy.
The cold, the heat, the shivering.
The pain, the sickness, the ageing.
I die.
Therefore, I lived.
Therefore, I was.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 6:32 PM UTC
When the moon comes full circle
The change rips through me like a power circuit
It starts in my toes
Far away from my heel they grow
My knees now bend backward
My bones all feel fractured
Still on two feet I stand
As I go out and survey my land
There is a hunger inside me that stirs
And my blood lust all will incur
As I run swiftly through the woods
To meet my pack, my hood
I am the alpha female the leader of this brood
In the bright moonlight we go in pursue of food
We stalk the campers in their tents
They never had a single hint
Inside their canvas shell the blood did spray
They had become our prey
We shredded the skin to make it tender
So savoury sweet as I remember
With blood dripping off our jowls
We soon go back on the prowl
I am the alpha female I am the leader of my pack
If you see us coming, you better not look back
Better yet when the moon is full and bright
Don't go wondering in the woods at night
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
Let us awake from the decay of strategic costumes where the incestuous fragrance of madness permeates golden dreams of eclectic strokes.
Bureaucratic self-enhancement nurtures docile manufacturers of laborious compliance, whilst social conscience plummets to depths of callous and entrepreneurial versatility.
Enduring imitations of an unsatisfactory kind is like pairing mint fondant with rich and savoury gravy which is acquired with strategic dishonesty.
Oh, negligent wakefulness – will we ever arise and discern those lobotomised representatives in this legislative brothel of excessive absurdity?
Shake me at one minute to midnight in the House of Lords.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
Expectations of gender stereotypes invoke the psychopath that lurks in the deepest recesses of my soul.
Maternal and paternal influences reek of disconnected ambivalence.
When I think of knowledge, I am reminded of apple pie.
I may not be able to undertake mechanical and electrical tasks, but I can truly profile.
Although our instincts may be somewhat dangerous, I am compelled to make those savoury simplicities that are characterised by yeast, cheese and the pride of a mother.
Have you ever been to Balmore?
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
There's an illusion in vacations
You buy a holiday bundle to endless beaches
Expecting to melt into a puddle
From the wet sun, from the softest massages, from the savoury delicacies
Yet I find myself melted
The same numbing beat
Disguised as lofi background
The same screeching shrieks
Of strangers in the sun
The lack in detail as I see the same view
Everyday, the same restaurant every meal
A sameness away from home
In the sand a million footsteps form
In a uniform path from the sleepy gazebos to the ocean
The ocean stretching far and away
The horizon hiding the destination of the sun
No footsteps can lead me towards where I long
Stuck in a routine I cannot call my own
Sep 4, 2022
Sep 4, 2022 at 8:53 AM UTC
Going down to sizzlers, (the sizzler song)
Come on mum and dad, don't be a tease
I do a lot of cooking, so why don't you grab the car keys
You see mum, there is no need to cook
And dad,,there is no need to book
Yeah we can have a lot of fun at sizzler, yeah
You see dad will have a steak
Mum will have a break, I prefer all you can eat
So I can eat myself stupid, man
So while dad is enjoying his steak, yes, he
Says it's so melt in the mouth
And I am fucken feeding my face, and looking like a loser, yeah
I first would have a plate of prawns, yeah I liked that,,yeah
And then I will have a savoury dip and special kind of crackers
And then I'll try a garlic bread and pasta, yeah
After that, when normal people give up
I will have ice cream and jelly and pancakes too
I will also try the nice chocolate mousse and healthy yoghurt
Oh yeah that's so nice, and listen mum, you shouldn't be a tease
Cause we can have a good meal at sizzler, please
And mum and dad enjoyed their meal, and they knew when to stop
But for about 20 minutes I was in the toilets spewing like crazy , oh yeah
My mum and dad were worried, and it got them all stressed
But the stupid vomiting won't actually stop
And when I felt a bit better I left the toilets
And mum and dad took me home because to them it was embarrassing
And on the way home I felt like vomiting again
And mum and dad stopped the car, so I can ***** it out
And I was there for about another 20 more minutes
And mum and dad said, come on, son, it's cold and we want to get home to the warm
And when I finished, I got back home, and it was a laugh a minute at sizzler yeah
You see dad enjoyed the steak, and mum enjoyed a break
And I think there should be a law against all you can eat places
Because all you can eat, is a bit of a tease
I was going down to sizzlers to ***** in the toilet, oh yeah
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
Take a simple packet of minced beef
Add a drop of water to the pan
Finely diced an onion and 3 chopped garlic cloves
Oh! Don't forget the fine cut celery
Now cook gently with a touch of love
Until the mince is brown
This now is the time to add just a pinch of dry mixed herbs
A liberal splash of soya sauce followed by a gentle stir
Important now please don't forget
A large pinch of marsala spice
For this will be the beating heart before you add the rice
RICE! Did I say rice?
For the amount of minced now in the ***
Cook an equal amount of rice until soft
Of course in another pan
Now just before the rice is done add mixed veg to the mince
In the other pan, frozen veg will do
Now strain the mince but save the sauce
Worth its weight in gold
Now, yes now's the time to strain the pan and add the rice
To the mince so savoury and brown
Mix the rice and mince with love until well combined
Place into a baking dish and set the oven high(160)
20 minutes will be enough so now the dish is done
Thicken the sauce you strained from the mince and bring to a gentle boil
Serve the mince/rice with new boiled potatoes and the sauce
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
My family What's app group
Is homemade soup.
It keeps me calm,
Soothes me like a balm,
Reduces tension of the day,
Appeases my appetite for what is happening in some way.
Family relationship is savoury broth,
Holds a strong bond and growth.
Photos and videos,
Not to forget audios,
Are seasonings which enhance the taste,
Just some, only the best.
Gossips,jokes and sayings need time to simmer,
To reach full flavour.
Family moans and groans,
Are birthdays, death,sickness and new borns,
Raining with condolences and wishes,
Tangy, no preservatives.
Family members are garnish,
Quite a relish,
With active members as crusty croutons,
That promote sociability and traditions.
Passive members are fresh herbs,
Rarely a comment,only few words,
But,are there to bring out the lovely aroma.
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 3:29 PM UTC
deep pan cooking not hardeep cooking 21.08.18
monday started top draw
my venom going to spill
natalie is going to get poetry draw
forget girlfriends she will run for hill.
how dare she complain
when something is uncontrollable
insomnia through hardeep may rain
but freedom of speech not so honourable.
gabby and chloe showed they cared
how natalie was blunt
explaining hardeep was literally chaired
footage available now hunt.
onto shares and stocks
rodrigo learning how to trade
laughing off my socks
no barings even if bad bug won't fade.
nick and rodrigo in control
on boarder line ready to hassle
the biceps taking fall patrol
it was rodrigo not nick who liked mussel.
failure to the task
hunger will be plenty
one comment can not mask
hardeep can make something out of empty.
dans hands were magic
don't get confused
gabby refusal was award and tragic
like basic budget just amused.
was sally watching adverts
the aviva app dash cam i log
roxanne will need youtube diverts
it was a tin man not a brown dog.
nick explaining about travel
lands of paradise and greens
at airport all unravel
seeing face on all them screens.
legs up and over
natalie and gabby to exercise
hardeep with a nasty dig and sober
saying nick doing shopping add criticise.
natalie and hardeep getting louder
hardeep gets my crown
unacceptable all about curry powder
she bring herself not hardeep down.
going to end with a critic
natalie won't see no irony
vicious mouth and hyper-critic
its all add to cbb savoury.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
You can experience it
Coming from most of
The writers around the
Block of Writers Block
Only to be saved by the
Bunch of Writers from
The Writers' Block.
They can call you names,
Ranging from A ******
To A Grammar ****
But don't be put off,
Don't be put out,
Just hold on.
Hold your ground.
You might have OCD,
The Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,
Don't worry - just channel it well.
Channel it well and play your tunes,
Don't worry about the runes,
They will be all covered with ink.
Yes, the electronic ink.
For all eternity, they say,
You can never achieve perfection,
And it should not concern you.
Just remember your wordlust,
Coin new and better words,
Just play your sweet lute.
Yes, you are so cute.
"What's so cataclysmic about the apostrophe?"
You asked me,
And legitimately so.
It's the difference 'tween us,
Perfection and poets,
Godliness and humaneness.
Divinity and profanity.
"Yes, perfection is sacrilege,"
I say, "Perfection is an ambition,"
"Of humanity and nature."
I take a deep breath before saying,
"In the knowledge available,"
"It's just a figment."
You ask me, "Where is it located?"
I say:
Find it 'fore some letters,
You can find it afta' some letters,
Lockin'n'poppin words together,
The apostrophe is so savoury & flexible
I just hope that I never become,
A Grammar Apostate -
I'll rather be ill instead.
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 12:51 PM UTC
The libraries and bookstores of the world
Are stocked with pleasantries:
Prim, proper, peach juice-oozing volumes
That made the grade.
These books are all well and good,
And are not unworthy of examination,
Simply because they were deemed so
By a jury of your peers.
Make note, however,
Of the myopia inherent
In limiting yourself
To the savoury.
Observe:
Past the shelves of
Well-lit,
Worn-covered
Thoroughly thumbed delicacies,
There is more to be seen.
Do not hesitate to approach the shelves
Wreathed in thorns and security tape
And kept under dim bulbs.
The books that lurk there
Are sealed tight
And wear jackets plastered in sludge:
Sludge laid thick by heavy-handed brushstrokes.
Prying open the padlock
Will sometimes reveal
Further grime coagulated upon the pages.
Further prying, however,
Will split open tomes
Scrawled with fractures of light,
Lending to the eye
An illumination unique
To such tarred works.
Do not fear these banned books,
These veiled wonders,
For they contain pure, unscreened scrawlings
Soulfully wrought upon simple scraps of paper.
It is within these that truth can be found.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
Hogbetsotso is once again with us,
But I have not yet found my arm,
She is on her way once again,
Oh yes, I must know the truth
Behind her lovely convex hips,
When was she hatched?
For the merchants have not yet
Arrived with their good news,
Can anyone behold the Volta
Lake trembling at her sweet voice?
Can anyone behold her divine blackness
Brightening the hearts of the
Men upon the horizon of Dzodze?
The chief priest is said to have hidden
This truth from the ancestors,
For her hymns are nothing
But eternal love and beauty,
Now see how green and glorious
Her savoury dusky bark looks,
Are the naked Gods permitted to
Create a beauty like unto her image?
My imagination cannot even define
The secret behind her beauty,
Neither can a basket full of words
Betray my secret thoughts of her,
For the beads around her waist
Has been a snare to great kings,
She is an Ewe indeed,
Daehafi, the exceptional beauty
That brightens the watching sun,
The mighty wind that refreshes
My fearless daily hopes,
In fact, her precious eyes flashes
Glaring fire with her breath of flame,
My dear Daehafi,
Go and persuade the sea wave
Not to break into pieces,
And kiss me once again,
A last long kiss,
Until I draw your soul within
My plum lips and
Drink down all your love,
In fact, she is the only prim
And proper Black beauty that
Weighs her love before
Given out her heart.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 7:02 AM UTC
There is something Scandinavian about the experience.
It reminds me of eternal resolutions.
Are you able or willing to listen?
Let me be honest with you: although I personally dislike the texture of *** I truly validate its place in the realms of peculiarity.
I am privileged to say that we are humbled by those who are scorned by populations of presumption.
Sausages must be fried at the correct temperature, otherwise their savoury convergences are lost in an abyss of culinary sabotage – don’t you think?
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
fresh.
The moment water trickles down your body
clean.
The moment you step out of the showers
aromatic.
The moment the smell of freshly brewed beverage hits
savoury.
The moment amazing breakfast washes into your mouth
personal.
The moment you put on music and hum along
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 10:58 PM UTC
Shape of figure;
strength, courage, love,
Curved into masterpiece; a fiery heart,
fiercely burns my eyes in the wake of desires.
A dream? I hope not, for angels don't
belong in such a place. I'd choose not to wake.
Wishful thinking. I wish to have that I cannot,
that perhaps all do not. That I can't truly love.
Anguished; underfed passion, yearning the taste of tears.
Beautifully falling like rain that has blessed the grounds.
I'm on the grounds under your weight, the weight of your
desire has to my heart.
Sigh! I'm tearful at night; pillows that hold oceans,
drowning. Drowning in my vivid imaginings spent
with you.
A paint brush,—wet as lips shaking from a kiss,
it must have outlined you with I in mind.
All things I like; to experience them into love.
A clutch pencil,—clutching my heart, piercing through
my paper thin weakness towards you.
A tablespoon,—sprinkled into a dish, baked in
a maturity's time in the oven of growth.
Funny how I've kissed a thousand times those
skins of savoury lips. But wailfully, woefully,
wretchedly, and painfully you don't exist.
_Just an imaginary Miss._
Jun 18, 2022
Jun 18, 2022 at 9:57 AM UTC
Drifting on my bark from rise until set
Shifting through the clouds where our eyes first met
When Icarus' assailant meets the same demise
That is the time my love shall be in the skies
I wait and hope and pray and sing
Because nothing compares to the love she brings
No fate can tether me from her, not even the strongest tide
Ripping me from this terra firma shell will only bring me closer to her in strides
Every moment I have with her is savoury, short, and sweet
If you want to keep me from her, you better bring an entire fleet
She kisses my wounds and tells me everything will be alright
"Don't fill with fear even if the sun is too bright."
But I can see it in her eyes she knows this vessel will not last
If you think I'm referring to my boat, may I refer you to my past
One last wink as she sinks back into the water
I can still hear her prayers echoing to protect me from the sun's slaughter
But being Captain Otter, you aren't known for peace
Considering I'm dragging a few foes across the coral reef.
Facing each day as if it's death I'm about to greet
I mind it not, because there is someone above I'd rather meet
Until that day arrives I'll enjoy this constant strife
Because yoho, it's the pirate's life.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 2:02 AM UTC